


five times richard quoted much ado and one time camille did

by lux_et_astra



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: 5 + 1 Things, Alternate Universe - Richard Poole Lives, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Shakespearean Insults, and fixed, barely any angst, i.e. richard is aggressively british, well. death of a detective is mentioned, well. ish.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:41:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29331741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lux_et_astra/pseuds/lux_et_astra
Summary: i will live in thy heart, die in thy lap and be buried in thy eyes.or, five times richard poole quoted much ado about nothing at camille, and one time she quoted it at him.
Relationships: Camille Bordey/Richard Poole
Comments: 17
Kudos: 27





	five times richard quoted much ado and one time camille did

**1.**

camille is- frustrated. the man is insufferable!

anything she says, he seems to have a witty comeback for. nothing she says seems to even phase him.

“ah! camille. just the person. i was thinking - we’ve had some new evidence come to light, isn’t it about time we speak to the victim’s wife again?”

“i am in awe of your intelligence,” she mutters, brushing past him towards her desk to pick up her phone.

“yes, well, i wish my intelligence had the speed of your tongue,” he bites back sharply, and she starts, pausing with her hand in her pocket.

that was _suspiciously_ intelligent. has he been getting wittier? she needs to keep up.

“then we’d all be out of a job,” she sighs loftily, and he grins.

damn. that was almost a compliment to his intelligence. she needs to work on that.

they climb into the car together, camille on the driver’s side, and she casts a flustered look of consternation to richard.

“i think we should be rather firm with the wife,” he muses, “see if we can’t trick a secret from her.”

“is this how you always do police work, threatening grieving wives?” camille teases, hoping to draw forward another bout of banter.

“that’s not exactly my reputation,” he states loftily, “it’s your base and bitter disposition that sees me that way. i’ll be revenged,” he finishes, wagging his finger at her.

what? none of that sounds like richard. it sounds english, sure, and pedantic, but not at all like richard.

“uh. sure,” she adds lamely, and turns her attention back to the road.

**2.**

it keeps happening - she says something, and he lapses into a formal, but scathing, voice, and she has to move away with her tail between her legs.

she’s determined to catch him out, so she slips into an argumentative mood, hoping to draw out one of his peculiar jibes.

“oh, inspector, how was your date last night?”

he wasn’t on a date, he was organising prisoner transport with a liaison from guadeloupe, but the liaison was a rather gorgeous woman - camille allows herself a moment to dream - and she is sure she can get a rise out of him.

“oh, camille, really-”

“ _my_ night was terribly lonely,” she interjects, seeing him start to get embarrassed, “but truly i don’t mind. men. you’re all the same.”

“yes, well. god keep you still in that mind, so any poor gentleman who tries to woo you shall escape a predestination scratched face.”

the audacity! but it is funny, and terribly clever.

“well that’s incredibly rude of you, richard! i’ll have you know i’ve dated many men who’ve left with their faces intact.”

“i have seen some of your conquests, sergeant, and let’s leave the subject with the understanding that scratching couldn’t make them worse.”

that… is _mean_. but also _hilarious_. so she fakes hurt, sniffs, and storms out of the station, fidel quick on her heels.

“what’s gotten into the inspector?” he hisses, and she giggles into her hands. “oh. oh no.”

“i’m just messing with him, fidel,” camille laughs. “he can be very funny.”

**3.**

after the hurricane, they have an easier time of it. barbs are still exchanged, but their arguments have been defanged. they bicker softly. richard tells maman that there’s a “kind of merry war” between them, tells the commissioner they have fun with a “skirmish of wits” to keep them sharp.

she just thinks it’s called friendship, but she doesn’t mind his odd phrases.

one day, they have wrapped up a case, and camille prepares to start the long argument to persuade him to join them for drinks.

“come on, sir, it’ll be good fun.”

“i hardly want to waste good time trapped at a table with poor fidel, signor mantanto and- well- you,” he grouses, and camille frowns.

“what’s wrong with me?”

richard sighs, sounding put-upon, and she pouts. “i’m wonderful.”

“of course, camille.”

“and you- abandoning us- you are heartless!”

he quirks his lips, and she restrains herself from showing any emotion on her face - she recognises this. this is his idea smile.

“i’ve lost my heart, camille - i lent it to someone awhile, and gave them use for it, but they won it off me with a loaded die, so you may well say i’ve lost it.”

he has actually lost it. that didn’t make sense.

she would give him another chance, but he’s still talking.

“look - ask me anything. the slightest errand to england, a toothpick from asia, a hair off an emperor’s beard, rather than to go to drinks.”

he pauses.

“i ask you for your good company!” she replies brightly, and he rolls his eyes, but looks pleased.

“there’s one dish i can’t stand, camille, i cannot stand my Lady Tongue.”

was that- was that an insult? aimed at her mother’s cooking, or aimed at _her?_

he walks out! he walks to the car! _he gets into the driver’s seat!_ she races to follow him, sliding into the passenger seat as he starts the engine and backs out into the road.

“wait, so you are coming?”

“of course! didn’t you hear me?”

 _ugh!_ the english!

**4.**

camille sits, sulking, in the passenger seat.

fine. richard is right to be cross with her. but she didn’t _know_ she was dating a murderer! she couldn’t _tell_ that he wanted to murder people! she just thought he was a good kisser!

they pull into the spot they park in, and he turns off the engine, but doesn’t get out, only sighs.

she bites her lip, preparing for a lecture.

“are you _very_ cross, sir?”

he looks across to her, surprised.

“what, for looking with your eyes, as other women do? not for that, camille.”

not for _that_. he’s cross with her for something else, and her stomach feels tight.

“sir? what would you like me to do?”

a half-smile flits across his face, and she wishes it would stay. she likes richard most when he is happy.

“nothing more than mend, camille. he hurt you too,” and he gently rests a finger on the steadily darkening bruises on her neck. 

she winces, though not from pain. he pulls away.

“let your sharp wit amble steadily,” he adds cheerily, even though it makes no damned sense. “in spite of your heart.”

she climbs out of the jeep as he does, and follows him into the station.

“sir?”

he turns, face mild, eyes kind.

“yes, sergeant?”

 _thank you for not blaming me,_ she doesn’t say. _thank you for worrying about me. thank you for showing up before he could get further than he did._

_thank you for always being there._

“just- thank you, richard.”

he smiles at her, bemused.

“i’m sure it was nothing, camille.”

**interlude**

“inspector!” camille calls, throat tight and aching. “ _richard!_ ”

“i don’t think he’s here,” fidel mutters from at her side. “where did he say he was going?”

“a school reunion, i think. but you know the chief, he’s not exactly the reunion type,” dwayne puts in sagely, waggling his eyebrows at her.

“we should - we should find him,” camille gets out, but her phone rings before she can elaborate.

_“police, i need police!”_

the woman on the end of the phone is frantic.

“honoré police station,” camille states mindlessly, “how can i help?”

_“please! she stabbed richard! he’s not- he’s barely breathing! we’re at a villa on a hill - god, i can’t remember the name…”_

“richard poole?” camille says, hardly daring to breathe.

_“yes- yes- please, you have to help…”_

“stay there, miss, keep everyone there until the paramedics arrive.”

she hangs up, and looks at her phone. she wonders why the screen is so shaky, until she realises it is her hand that is shaking.

“richard’s been stabbed.”

**5.**

richard’s recovery takes weeks - longer than it should, but as he _insists_ on wearing those silly suits and returning to work far too early, camille is barely surprised.

“yes, camille, i’m fine. you can stop fussing, really!”

“i’m not fussing any more than your doctor is fussing. which one of you two has a degree in medicine again?” she says acerbically, tugging off his suit jacket.

“you always end with a jade’s trick,” he mutters, and she makes a mental note. she’s gotten far better at recognising the cadence he slips into whenever he says something clever, and she’s collecting his words in her head - what for, she doesn’t know.

“yes, well, i’m always right, aren’t i?” she eyes his shirt, wondering how far she can take her supposed looking after him. judging by the full-force flush creeping up his neck, she’s already pushed far enough.

“i suppose sometimes you are,” he concedes, and rubs slightly at his back. she softens immediately.

“is it bothering you?”

he looks at her, at once guilty and relived.

“a little,” he admits, “i think i pulled it a bit when we were running after that suspect.”

“when _i_ was running after that suspect,” she corrects him gently, and begins to undo his shirt buttons after all. “you were jogging after him.”

“courtesy itself turns to disdain when you come in her presence,” richard mutters as she eases his shirt off, and she notes it again. “ah - camille, is that really necessary?”

she is massaging his shoulders with one hand while she hunts for the scar cream with the other. his muscles are far too tense, the knots tight under her hand.

“yes,” she states, “you are very stressed. has no one ever taught you to look after yourself?”

he chuckles somewhat, and relaxes a little into her hands as she starts rubbing the cream onto the raised scar tissue.

“no one’s really cared before,” he mentions flippantly, and her hands still a moment before beginning again.

“well! you shall have to come round to la kaz for roast beef again, to celebrate your excellent takedown of that suspect.”

“is that really necessary?” richard complains, but she can see him smiling as he slips his shirt back on. he tries to reach for his jacket and tie, but she pulls them away from him, eyes sparkling.

“please? just this once?”

something in her face must convince him, because he sighs and smiles at her.

“i will live in your heart, die in your lap, and be buried in your eyes. and i will go with you to your mother’s.”

it’s said under his breath as she helps him up and walks him to the jeep, but she can still hear it. she wonders what he means by it, why he doesn’t speak up. she is perfectly used to his odd english phrases by now. phrases she can never quite understand.

**interlude**

camille lies with her head in richard’s lap, staring up at the stars.

“you have a telescope,” she starts, and hears richard’s murmur of assent. his fingers are gently carding through her hair, and she’s a little sleepy, but she’s awake enough to appreciate the moment. “so i assume you know the stars.”

“i was a junior astronomer at school, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replies proudly, and she laughs a little.

“maman used to try to teach me about the constellations. apparently grand-mère had a book about them, which maman learnt off by heart. she would tell me a story about a different one each night.”

richard’s hand stills in her hair, and he laughs a little as well, low and mirthful.

“my mother did a similar thing - with bedtime stories, i mean - but with shakespeare.”

camille’s eyes widen, and she sits up, scrambling across to sit in richard’s lap, face centimetres from his.

“you know shakespeare?”

his eyes light up, and she leans into his side, preparing happily for a history ramble.

“i actually have quite a bit of much ado committed to memory,” he admits, and she gasps, getting up and pulling him to his feet.

“come inside and read it to me,” she demands, and he dutifully dusts off the sand from his clothes, and takes her hand, guiding her into the shack.

they settle on the bed, a light still shining, and richard cracks open a serious-looking book, taking a deep breath.

as he reads, camille leans her head on his shoulder, listening intently to his words. he is actually quite good at acting, changing his voice for different people, pausing in the right places.

almost immediately, she is suspicious. richard reads “signor mantanto” and “merry war” and “skirmish of wits”, he reads “courtesy itself must turn to disdain if you come in her presence”, and camille squeals, and hits him lightly on the arm.

“what? what was that for?”

“you ‘ave been quoting this book!”

in the low light, he looks distinctly sheepish.

“well - maybe a little.”

“you have! you cannot think of witty replies on your own, so you steal them from benedick!”

“alright, that’s a little unfair.” he carefully puts the book on the nightstand, and strokes camille’s cheek, eyes laughing. “you’re as sharp as beatrice, i can hardly be expected to keep up without help.”

“we’ll see about keeping up,” she promises, fingers resting on the top button of his shirt.

**+1**

the next time they argue, before richard can get the last word, camille leans across and kisses him.

“peace, i will stop your mouth,” she quotes, and richard laughs.

“you do realise they’ve just been married, there?”

camille arches an eyebrow at him.

“of course.”

richard goes impressively red, and camille laughs.

“well, i-”

she kisses him again, wondering at how effective it is at stopping him from putting his foot in his mouth.

“what were you saying?” she whispers, smile fully present.

“i love nothing in the world so well as you. is not that strange?”

she knows full well he is quoting, but nonetheless, the words feel warm, and ring true.

“i don’t know any more lines,” she admits, and he laughs and kisses her again.

“please, please, please can we go back to the arguing?” dwayne groans from his desk, and fidel nods insistently.

“now, where’s the fun in that?” camille exclaims, wrapping an arm around richard.

“the fun is in saving my sanity, sarge,” dwayne states, and shakes his head. “i’m all for love, but keep it out of the office, okay?”

camille shakes her head. “richard, can we fire dwayne?”

**Author's Note:**

> i love them, your honour
> 
> hope you enjoyed!
> 
> -lux :)


End file.
